


Touch My Scars Away

by inevitablethief



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Human Castiel, Implied Bottom Dean, Injured Dean Winchester, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Sam/Original Female Character(s), POV Dean Winchester, Physical Therapist Castiel, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitablethief/pseuds/inevitablethief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has spent a life hunting, so it was only a matter of time before he ended up with an injury he couldn't handle on his own.  Settling in at Bobby's, Dean undergoes surgery and the subsequent physical therapy required to get back to his life and his job.  His physical therapist, Castiel Novak, however, challenges everything Dean had ever believed about himelf: his sexuality, his lifestyle, even his devotion to hunting.  Cas's healing hands may heal more than just Dean's bad knee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ionian24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionian24/gifts).



> A birthday present for my wonderful Beta!
> 
> This is based off of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx6sYtwf34s) question at New Jersey Con 2015, around the 2 minute mark, of what Castiel would be if he were born human. I know absolutely nothing about physical therapy, and the internet was somewhat contradictory, so any inaccuracies are inadvertent.
> 
> This is Canon Divergent as of the third season Writer's Strike, and reflects what Wikipedia says about the original intention of that season's storyline. Therefore, Angels, Heaven, and the Apocalypse are not a part of this universe.

Dean had been stupid; he could admit that now. He had been fighting a nest of vamps, twisted weirdly, and heard a pop in his knee, which promptly gave out. One dumbass mistake and he’s facing down the barrel of fucking knee surgery. Everything had been pretty stable, too, _dammit_. Hell wasn’t causing extra trouble, anymore. After Sam had killed Lilith and gotten Dean out of his demon deal, some poncey bureaucrat took over hell—a crossroads demon, of all things. This meant that crossroads deals were more plentiful than ever, but the rest of the demons stuck to hell where they belonged. As long as it wasn’t Sam in charge down there, Dean really didn’t care. _Man_ , Sam had been creepy for a while; he made the rest of Azazel’s children look tame in comparison. He came back from it, though, and that was what mattered. You take a licking, you get up, and you keep fighting. Unfortunately for Dean, that was difficult when your anterior cruciate ligament no longer held your fucking knee together.

He was going to be out of the game entirely for months, and had to play the delicate princess for a year afterwards. The only saving grace was that his injury was to the left knee and he could still manage to drive his beloved Impala—when helped to the car, and into the car, and out of the car—up until his surgery. The car and the motels in between were not going to suffice as home base while his knee was busted, so Dean and Sam had settled down at Bobby’s. He was gruff and grumbled about it, but Dean caught the hint of a smile under that scruffy beard. Sioux Falls General Hospital was as good a place as any to go under the knife, Dean figured, so he might as well settle in.

Bobby actually had insurance under his real name because he owned his own business. He didn’t have any employees—too many prying eyes—but he managed to hire one Dean Williams, who unfortunately tore his ACL while on the job. No credit card fraud, just some minor insurance fraud, no big deal. That stress was taken care of and Dean could focus on whining, guilting Sam into bringing him beers, and catching up on his daytime TV.

He wasn’t afraid of surgery. He’d battled hell, for fuck sake, what could scare him about going under the knife? Damn near nothing—except Sam and Bobby were hovering like his giant sasquatch mother and his gruff trucker-hat wearing mother, and it was making him nervous.

“Sammy,” Dean warned, as Sam tried for the sixth time to track down the nurse for another rundown of the pre-surgical check list.

“This is just so normal, it’s out of our wheelhouse,” Sam grimaced.

“Exactly. Enjoy it. I’ll be off my game for a few months, so relax, find a nice girl, and we’ll help Bobby man the phones.”

“Oh brother,” Bobby chimed in.

“Come on, Bobby,” Dean admonished. “Give the kid a chance. He may surprise you.”

The orthopedic surgeon was a handsome man in his late forties, gray hair at the temples, and was the kind of guy you trusted to slice your knee open and fiddle around in there. Dean honestly hadn’t paid much attention to how the surgeon had described the surgery a few weeks before when he had recommended it. He had these nice eye crinkles that Dean had sort of become mesmerized by. Lucky guy had a wife and three kids at home, and Dean had been intensely jealous. He’d had a moment of hesitation as to which family members he envied, but he tried not to think about it.

They drugged him, and the last thing he remembered was calling out to Sam, “Take care of my baby.”

Several hours later, Dean was back in his room, pain medication trickling through his veins, and facing months of a knee brace, crutches, and physical therapy. His first appointment was later that week, too, which seemed far too soon for such a serious injury. They were the medical professionals, though, so Dean was behooved to follow their guidelines. 

He got out of the hospital later that day in the mandatory wheelchair, and claimed the couch in the library as his domain, still a bit groggy from the anesthesia. He propped up his leg, slapped some ice on it, and settled in to a boxed set of Dr. Sexy, M.D.

Three days—and two seasons—later and Sam was dropping him off at the medical center for his first appointment with his physical therapist.

“Hello, Dean,” the physical therapist greeted him with a firm handshake. “I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel?” Dean repeated in an unnaturally high voice. The contrast to his normal range was emphasized by the low growl of the other man, and Dean was suddenly self-conscious.

“Are you familiar with Angelic Lore?” Castiel asked with a small smile, as he led Dean through the front of the building to the physical therapy gym. He walked slowly, so that Dean could hobble next to him on his crutches.

“No, but I probably know someone who is,” Dean grinned.

Castiel looked suitably impressed. “My parents were, too. Castiel is the Angel of Thursday.”

“Religious?”

“Extremely, suffocatingly so.”

“My apologies. I know what it’s like to be raised by an obsessed bastard.”

Castiel offered another one of his small smiles in reply. They had walked past a bunch of equipment, parallel bars and exercise machines, to reach one of the soft topped exam tables which Castiel gestured to.

“How’s the knee?” Castiel asked casually.

“Swollen and sore, but I’m coping.”

“Are you icing it three times a day?”

Dean nodded as Castiel went through all the things the surgeon had told him to do, fitted him for a brace, and checked his use of the crutches. _Shit_ , he was probably better looking than even the surgeon had been. He had these big, deep blue eyes, and they sort of dipped at the outer corner to create natural puppy dog eyes even Sammy would envy. His cheekbones were so high, it was like they had just marched up his face and only stopped because his eyes got in the way. And those soft, pillowy, pink lips! His build was suitably athletic for a physical therapist, strong biceps peeking out from under his uniform polo shirt, and broad shoulders. He was smaller than Dean, though, shorter by an inch or two, and maybe fifteen pounds lighter. Still, he was a big enough guy that Dean felt safe in his arms—hands— _care_. Man, if Dean was a chick, he’d have so much trouble concentrating on his exercises rather than those pretty blue eyes.

They didn’t really do any exercises this time, though, as Castiel mentioned his surgery was too recent. He just sort of put his—strong, delicate-fingered—hands all over Dean’s thighs and stretched the muscles.

At the end of their appointment, Dean felt pretty good about his physical therapy. Castiel was pretty cool and explained everything clearly in his deep rumble. Girls would flip for that sex voice.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel said as they parted. Sam was stopped at the curb in the Impala—once Dean was cleared to drive in few weeks, Sam was gonna have to find his own car at Bobbys—so Castiel helped him through the lobby.

“See ya next week, Cas,” Dean responded, but a thought occurred to him. “Hey, it’s Thursday.”

“So it is,” Castiel responded. “Must be fate.”

“Must be,” Dean smiled as he hobbled out to the car.

A week passed in another four seasons of Dr. Sexy, 3 busted bags of frozen peas (Dean had an unfortunate habit of leaving them to thaw between his thrice daily icings, and Sam was the lucky victim who squashed a room temperature bag of peas.), and half of Bobby’s patience. He’d taken to thrusting lore books on Dean for proactive research, but had been taken aback when Dean requested anything he had on Angels.

There was a whole entry on the Angel Castiel in one of the books, and Dean read all about the Angel of Thursday.

So it was armed with this new information that Dean greeted his physical therapist.

“Hey, Cas, did you know that you’re involved in the apocalypse?”

“That sounds ominous,” Cas replied stoically.

“Angel you, I mean.” When Cas gave him a blank look, Dean shrugged. “I told you I had a friend who knew this sort of stuff.”

Castiel looked impressed. “So, how is Castiel tied to the apocalypse?” he asked.

“Well, if the apocalypse started, it would be because the righteous man shed blood in hell. But the one who starts it has to finish it, so the Angels have to save him from hell. And Castiel is a badass Seraph Warrior, so he leads the charge and rescues the righteous man.”

“Interesting; I wasn’t aware of that.”

“My friend has some really obscure books.”

All the discussion of hell made Dean grateful that Sam had gotten him out of his deal, even if he had had to turn into something awful to do it. Otherwise, Dean would still be down there, being tortured for all eternity.

“How are you doing this week, Dean?” Castiel asked once they were settled at their spot.

“Pain’s going down. I don’t need as much medication, and the swelling is better.”

“That’s good,” Cas nodded. “You’re still icing three times a day?”

“Yep, driving my brother crazy with it, too.”

“Your brother picked you up last week?” Cas asked. His hands were so warm on Dean’s thigh, that Dean had to cough to clear his throat and reply.

“Yeah, that’s Sammy. I practically raised that boy.”

Castiel gently manipulated Dean’s leg so that it straightened as far as it could go.

“Soon we’ll go over some exercises I want you to do several times a day, but for now you should take it easy and do the extension I taught you,” Castiel said while leaning over Dean’s leg, but he turned his head towards Dean to ask, “Is that what you meant last week?”

“The obsessed bastard? Yeah, my dad. My mom was, um, murdered when I was a kid, and my dad spent our whole lives trying to get revenge.”

Cas’s eyebrows shot up. “Did he succeed?”

“Yeah, actually. But it cost my dad his life.”

“And your childhood,” Castiel replied softly.

“Well, yeah, I guess. I never really looked at it that way. What about you? Did your obsessed parents provide you any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes, I have one brother.”

“Name, rank, and serial number?”

Castiel’s trademark small smile broadened minutely. “James, married with one beautiful daughter, lives in Illinois where we are from, and is my identical twin.”

“Shit, there are two of you?!” Dean exclaimed before his mind caught up with his mouth.

Castiel seemed amused. “Yes, but I am an inch taller and we differ greatly in comportment and grooming. I have a mole above my right nipple that he does not, as well.”

Dean knew that men had nipples—he had a perky pair of his own—so why did the mention of Castiel’s nipple cause him such discomfort?

“But the casual viewer will most likely recognize that Jimmy’s hair is slightly darker and smoother,” Cas continued.

“Yeah, you do have quite a head of hair on you,” Dean laughed and ruffled the aforementioned hair. It was soft in his hand, which caused him to pull away as if it hadn’t been the nicest thing he’d touched in weeks. Castiel spared him an inquisitive stare before returning to his work. They stretched for another ten minutes, then Dean lay back with an ice pack on his knee.

“You’re doing very well, Dean, so starting two weeks from now, you should schedule two appointments a week with me. You can make arrangements with the front desk.”

“Does that mean we’re done?” Dean asked, his mouth once again running away with him.

“Yes,” Cas’s small smile curved his pretty lips again. “I’ll see you next week, Dean.”

He let Dean hobble out to the lobby himself this time, where a pretty girl ran the reception desk. He felt compelled to flirt with her, even though she was about ten years too young for him. Once she had finished scheduling his new appointments, Dean glanced back at the door he had just come through. Cas was leaning in said doorway, frowning slightly, but once he noticed Dean staring, he made his way back into the gym.

Their next appointment passed in much the same way: not much physical therapy, but a lot of touching and a lot of chatting. Dean was starting to look forward to his physical therapy appointments, as they were his only time out of Bobby’s house (and away from the endless lore books), and he’d never really had any friends. The longest relationship he’d ever had was his two weeks with Cassie, and every acquaintance was a hunter. So even though Castiel was kind of awkward and dorky, his presence was a bright spot in Dean’s week, and it was with a light heart that he headed for his first Monday appointment.

He was very much mistaken. Physical therapy was difficult. Very difficult. Painful and difficult and embarrassing. He was now healed enough from the surgery to start learning exercises. And they were awful. Not even Cas’s occasional wry humor could alleviate their awfulness. When Dean’s knee wouldn’t fully straighten for one of the exercises, Castiel put a weight low on Dean’s thigh so that it would. He was supposed to do this himself three times a day, for five minutes at a time, while simultaneously practicing the other exercise that he’s supposed to do twenty times.

He couldn’t even properly contract his thigh muscles, so Cas kept manhandling his thigh with those warm, soft, strong hands of his, and it just made Dean uncomfortable. If he hadn’t liked the guy so much, he should have turned him in for improper conduct just for those ridiculously long fingers.

“It will get easier,” Cas lied. 

“This sucks, man,” Dean whined as Cas readjusted the weight back its spot above Dean’s knee. “Come on, distract me.”

Castiel blanched. “With what?”

“I don’t know, man. What’s your favorite TV show?”

“I…I don’t really watch TV,” Cas stuttered.

“Oh, you’re one of those,” Dean teased.

“I am not.” Cas was adorably indignant. “Television was not a part of my life growing up, as my parents didn’t approve, so I never became used to watching it. Jimmy and I used to sneak over to the neighbor’s house on Saturday mornings and watch cartoons, though.”

“Hmm,” Dean smirked. “A rebel, huh.”

Cas looked slightly proud of himself as he gave Dean an imperious glance. “Yes, your supposition is correct, I was the one influencing my brother to sneak away and watch forbidden cartoons. He was not so inclined on his own. Perhaps that is why he still lives in our hometown and has Sunday dinner with our mother, and I do not.”

“Same family dynamic, here, except that I was the good, obedient son, and Sam the rebel.”

Cas disappeared through one of the many doors, and returned with a blue ice pack. “Did he convince you that Wile E. Coyote was symbolic of man’s endless chase of the divine, too?”

“No,” Dean laughed. “He went to college. Dad was furious.”

“That’s an interesting point of view,” Castiel said, feigning casualness.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird. I come from a weird family, man,” Dean conceded.

Cas left him alone while the ice melted and dripped condensation down Dean’s inner thigh. When Castiel returned, he praised Dean, “You’re doing very well, and it will get easier. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

For the next two days, Dean practiced his exercises diligently. He needed a flat space like the tables the Physical Therapy place had, and the couch was too squishy. He made do by clearing everything off Bobby’s desk, to Bobby’s great annoyance, and laying down a few blankets Sam stole for him from upstairs. He was suddenly reminded of Castiel leading his brother away from the path of righteousness by way of Bugs Bunny cartoons, as Sam helped him lay out the smuggled cushioning and climb onto the top of the repurposed desk.

His diligence paid off, however, and by his next appointment, Dean could get his leg straight on his own without the weight.

“I told you it would get easier,” Castiel smiled.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you,” Dean countered with a grin of his own.

_Yikes!_ That was inappropriate. Dean was grateful Cas wasn’t a chick because a chick would have though he was flirting with her with a comment like that. Cas just took it in stride, that same small smile on his thick mouth.

They passed the rest of the appointment without chatting, which disappointed Dean immensely as his conversations with Cas made the boring, repetitive motions bearable.

“You’re doing very well,” Cas praised, finally breaking the ilence, while wrapping an ice pack around Dean’s knee. “I want you to continue doing these two exercises and I’ll teach you two more next week.”

When he was done, Cas walked him through the lobby again, past the pretty receptionist, and out to the waiting Impala by the curb.

Saturday night Sam suggested they get out of the house, since Dean was maneuvering more easily on his crutches. He was completely off his pain meds, which meant that real alcohol was in order. They chose a bar that reminded them comfortably of the old Roadhouse minus the hunter clientele. There were pool tables in the back, Dean’s favorite beer on tap, and Zeppelin on the juke box. It felt like home.

Dean settled in at a table and let Sam get them drinks. He chose a nice one near enough to the pool tables to watch, even though his injury prevented him from playing. He wasted a good three minutes laughing to himself over the image of himself trying to balance a pool cue and his crutches. Speaking of his crutches, they were definitely in the way, and once Sam returned with their tumblers of whiskey, Dean had to send him away to find a spot to leave them, even though that was going to virtually strand Dean at their table.

While Sam was taking care of that, a group of rowdy college students cleared away from one of the pool tables (oh how Dean would have loved to hustle them if he were in shape to), revealing a quartet also finishing up at the far table. Two men had double teamed an attractive middle aged woman and a good looking guy.

_Hey, that good looking guy was Cas!_ Dean waved him over; he could see Cas’s female companion pout and slip him a small square of paper. Cas kissed her on the cheek, pocketed the paper, and bounded over to Dean’s table. The game went on without him.

“Hello, Dean,” he smiled. “It’s nice to see you out of physical therapy.”

Cas wasn’t in the uniform polo shirt and track pants he usually wore to his sessions with Dean, and was instead wearing a pair of jeans and leather jacket. It was a good look. Dean gestured to him to sit down, so they’d at least be on the same level. Cas shyly took the proffered chair.

“Looks like you got a number,” Dean nodded towards the woman at the pool table. She looked about ten years older than Cas, but was sexy in an obvious sort of way.

“Yes,” Cas said distractedly, but he pulled the scrawled on cocktail napkin out of his pocket. “Between you and me, I was hoping for the blond, instead.”

Dean looked past the mousy head of the woman, but could see no blond women in the vicinity of the pool tables. The game Cas had vacated came to a close, and one of the two men collected their winnings. His blond head bent over the pool table and—oh.

“Wait, do you like men or women?” Dean asked without thinking. Why was that such a problem for him around Cas?

Cas’s trademark smile turned into a smirk. “I see no reason to restrict potential partners to one gender—or even two, Dean.”

Dean did not know how he felt about a dude who liked dudes feeling him up twice a week. He took a large sip of his drink, sputtering through the now unfamiliar burn.

“A straight man,” Cas continued—Dean noticed he didn’t say _you_ —“could arrive at a bar with only two other patrons, desperate for sexual release, find an extremely good looking man and a rather unattractive woman, and would pursue the woman, by virtue of her gender. I am under no such limitations. I am free to choose the more attractive partner, unconstrained by something as inconsequential as gender. And, in this case, I would choose the man.”

Thank God Sammy chose that moment to return to the table.

“Hey, Sammy, have you met my physical therapist?” Dean asked, feeling not at all abrupt and awkward. “Cas, this is Sammy; Sam, Cas.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Sam,” Cas took Sam’s hand firmly.

“Thanks for everything you’re doing for Dean’s knee,” Sam grinned.

“He does pay for that,” Cas deadpanned.

It was still unclear to Dean whether Cas was making jokes with comments like that, but that didn’t stop him from letting out a loud guffaw. Sam responded with a sharp look that Dean couldn’t read.

Cas stayed with them the rest of the evening, and Dean didn’t know if that was because he wanted to, or because that awkwardness he occasionally displayed at their appointments kept him from realizing it wasn’t exactly normal to join your patient for numerous shots of hard liquor. Dean didn’t mind, though, because he wanted Cas there. For one thing, his presence kept Dean and Sam from reverting to shop talk. He also had such an intense fascination with everything Dean talked about. Dean recounted the plot of the fifth season of Dr. Sexy, and Cas treated it like Dean was telling him the secrets of the universe.

Dean went home drunk and happy for the first time in months.


	2. Chapter 2

The next two weeks of Dean’s physical therapy passed without incident. Now that Dean was able to move around more easily, he and Sam took turns manning the hunter lines, answering questions, sending backup, and pretending to be various government agencies when needed. This freed Bobby up to attend to his paying business, and filled the long boring days between physical therapy appointments. The evening at the bar had shifted things in his and Cas’s dynamic, and Dean felt that they could almost be called friends. The biggest downside to his new lifestyle, however, was that getting around on crutches was the most excruciating experience of his life. He was constantly sore in his shoulders and back, and that couldn’t be healthy. He brought it up at his next appointment.

“Let’s check the height of your crutches and your technique, but it could be as simple as straining muscles you’re not used to using,” Cas replied.

Everything checked out, but three days later, the soreness was still unbearable.

“A massage would help loosen your muscles and alleviate the pain,” Cas offered. “I am also a licensed massage therapist, if you would like.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Dean stuttered.

“I perform massage on many of my patients, Dean,” Cas remonstrated.

Dean had never had a massage before, and this was not the place to start. Cas already touched him more than he was comfortable with, and all that was within the bounds of what Dean had signed on for. 

These things should have led to Dean reiterating his no, but he found himself saying quite the opposite.

And so he found himself, shirtless, lying face down on the therapy table, with Cas’s hands all over him, and he had never felt better.

Cas’s hands were magic; they smoothed down his back and up over his shoulders. He could feel the pain and tension easing out of him. The touch felt so good, hitting all the spots that had hurt, and a few that tingled nicely as Cas worked the knots out. Dean let out little grunts and groans as Cas worked him over, and, had he been in a less comfortable situation, he would have been mortified. Being around Cas was safe; he wouldn’t judge and he was probably legally obligated not to tell a soul about Dean’s little noises and breathy gasps.

Dean was so relaxed, he hadn’t noticed the problem until it was too late. Had he realized what was happening sooner, he would have thought about Bobby in a string bikini or the mutilated carcass of a cow, but it was too late, and he was hard. Fully hard, too, judging by his dick’s uncomfortable position against the cushioned table. That was normal, right? Touching was like foreplay, which leads to sex, so it was expected that it might be arousing, regardless of the level of attraction towards the toucher. 

It’s not like Dean wanted to roll over and let Cas see the result of his massage. Especially since Dean was wearing sweat pants at the moment, and Cas would be able to see everything. It’s not like he wanted Cas to pull those sweat pants down and close his plush mouth over the head, sinking all the way down, letting his tongue flick against the sensitive underside.

_Shit, shit, shit_. Dean was supposed to be willing it away, not humping the therapy table. _God_ , he hoped Cas hadn’t noticed the subtle gyrations of his hips. So Dean was horny; it had nothing whatsoever to do with the hot physical therapist with oiled hands all over Dean’s backside. That would have been easier for Dean to believe had he not actually let out a disappointed moan when those hands abruptly moved away.

“I need to…take care of something. Scheduling. I just remembered.”

Dean could hear a door slam on the other side of the room. The only other patients in the room were on the far side by the trampoline, so Dean’s situation wouldn’t be noticed if he moved. An accessible restroom was by Dean, and his crutches were within reach, so he carefully rolled off the table and retrieved them—carefully, favoring his knee. He looked down, and— _yeah_ —there was no missing his hard-on. He hobbled towards the bathroom and closed the door.

The problem had to be taken care of before Cas came back, and the quickest way out was through. Dean pulled his sweatpants and boxer briefs down and let them sit under his balls, bracing himself against the grab bar with his left hand. He couldn’t believe he was jacking off in a handicapped restroom at his physical therapist. He kept his mind as blank as possible, but the ghost of Cas’s touch was still on his skin, and it was what had turned him on in the first place, so that was a failing battle. Sweat mixed with the lotion on his bare shoulders as he jerked his hand over his cock. He hadn’t gotten off at all during his stay at Bobby’s, feeling overexposed in his lair on the first floor, so he didn’t last long. That, rather than having been completely turned on by the impromptu massage. One final twist of his wrist and he was coming all over his hand in hot and sticky spurts. In the afterglow, he had a quick burst of fear that his knee had given out again, only to realize that he was supporting himself solely on his good knee; he’d just gone boneless with pleasure. Well, he was supposed to be relaxed from his massage, anyway. He cleaned himself up of any evidence and made his way back to the therapy table. He was fortunate enough to beat ( _terrible pun, Dean_ ) Cas back and could pretend like nothing had happened in the physical therapist’s absence.

When Cas returned, he was pink cheeked and more awkward than usual.

“How do you feel?” Cas asked.

“I feel fucking great, man,” Dean answered without thinking. That was becoming a big problem for him. Not as big as getting off on having Cas’s hands all over him, but enough of an issue that Dean was as pink as Cas.

Cas skipped icing Dean’s knee. Whether he forgot or didn’t deem it necessary since Dean hadn’t done his normal workout, Dean didn’t know, but, either way, it was about ten minutes after he had really needed to cool down. That was the end of their session for the week, and Dean had three days to get over what had happened before he had to face Cas again. Part of him thought that he should ask for a new physical therapist. The smarter part of him, however, knew that good friends were not a dime a dozen, especially in a line of work where they all died. Once he returned full time to hunting, Dean could stop by for drinks with Cas when he was in town visiting Bobby, and that was something to look forward to. He had his first real friend, and whatever weird sex thing had gotten involved wasn’t worth losing that.

He manned the phones the next day, pretending to be Nevada Parks Services, the FBI (12 times), Wildlife Services, and Garth’s mother. The desk had been returned to its former use now that Dean could do most of his exercises in a chair or over at the Y—he and Sam worked out together, which thrilled Sam to no end. He had a laptop open as he sat behind the desk, and was filling his time between calls by surfing the internet. He, of course, fulfilled every cliché about himself and the internet, and eventually ended up on one of his favorite porn sites.

He searched for a few of his favorites, but they did nothing for him. He tried a few exotic variations; he would have thought girl on girl BDSM would have gotten the little guy excited, but nothing turned him on. The previous day’s exploration had ruined him! Finally, curiosity and desperation won out, and he searched for male-female-male threesomes. That was a safe bet, at least, but he still muted the sound and did a quick perimeter check for his brother or Bobby. The action opened on a sexy brunette in a push up bra, lying back on a satin-sheet covered bed. She was joined by one hairless man, then another; they were both in short, tight, European style briefs that showed off their impressive bulges. Dean usually avoided dudes in his porn because he didn’t want to see another guy’s junk while getting off. What straight guy would? It was worth rethinking things, however, as little Dean had perked up considerably at the sight of all that flesh, despite two thirds of it being male. The two men began to go to work on the lone woman, but paid little attention to each other. By the time they got to the double penetration, Dean was sort of bored. He adjusted his search terms to the—still safe—male-male-female threesome and picked a promising video. 

This time, the two men had their hands—and mouths—all over each other. It was hot. The girl appeared to be nothing more than set dressing, touching herself on a chaise, watching as the two men went at it. One man dropped to his knees in front of the other, his tongue flicking out to taste. Shit, Dean was getting hard watching one man give another man a blowjob. This being porn, they edited out the prep work (though Dean knew enough to know you should never skip the prep work) and on to the main event. As promised, when the woman rejoined the answer, one of the two men was the lucky one, getting fucked in the ass by the other guy, while he fucked the woman. Dean’s imagination put himself in the middle, Cas as the guy behind him, and the woman just sort of faded away. _Fuck_ , when did he start jacking himself off? He told himself to think about the girl, and to not think about Cas, but his mind heard _think about Cas_ , and that was all she wrote. He came, hard and fast, just as the trio onscreen did, too.

Then the phone rang.

“FBI,” Dean breathed.

“I’m sorry?” The voice replied.

Dean glanced at the phone he’d answered. It was labeled with _Wildlife Services_ , not FBI.

“Uh, my apologies, ma’am,” Dean bluffed. “This number was recently reassigned to my department. What federal agency were you trying to reach? I can transfer you.”

Dean put them on mute and pretended to transfer the call.

“ _Sam._ Sam!” He called into the house. He hastily pulled up his sweatpants and wiped most of the jizz off his hand on a clump of tissues. 

Sam arrived just as Dean was presentable and Dean shoved the receiver into his hand. “Parks Services,” he huffed. “No wait, Wildlife Services.”

“Wildlife Services,” Sam stated into the phone with an appropriate amount of authority. “Yes, we do have an agent on that case.” Once the small town Sheriff was satisfied with the cover story, Sam reached over the desk and hung the phone up on the wall. “ _Dude_.”

Dean looked down at the open laptop; it had autoplayed another video—one that he definitely didn’t want Sam to see him watching—but Sam couldn’t see the screen. He could, however, see the pile of hastily strewn tissues, and put two and two together.

“No wonder you messed up answering a call.”

“I was bored,” Dean justified. _And curious._

“You’re disgusting,” Sam grimaced. “Clean this crap up, Dean, before Bobby sees.”

“Hey you get your nice private room upstairs and a shower and everything. I share the library with…a…a _library_ and have to hose off in the yard.”

Sam just shook his head in disappointment and left Dean to his come-covered Kleenex, gay porn (not that Sam knew that), and the inevitable freak-out.

Dean’s gay panic slowed down his progress where his knee was concerned. He didn’t want to do his exercises, didn’t want to ride a stupid stationary bike at the Y, didn’t want to do a single fucking leg lift. Everything reminded him of Cas, and his warm, soft, strong hands all over. And had Dean noticed his pretty blue eyes? The muscular shift of his back as he searched through the weight rack for the right size? His really great ass? It was a huge problem, and Dean’s favorite way of dealing with problems was to ignore them. His knee was stiff by the time he had to get Sam to drive him to Physical Therapy for his appointment on Monday. Fortunately, nothing else was.

Cas was nowhere to be seen when he arrived. One of the other physical therapists showed him to the stationary bike, and he spent the next twenty minutes on that. When he was done on that, the same blonde woman made him do all his exercises in front of her, critiquing his technique and shoving him gracelessly into the positions she wanted. When they were done, and he was sitting with an ice wrap on his knee, she lectured him about being diligent about his therapy at home. 

On his way out, Cas was in the lobby.

“Finally, man,” Dean grumbled. “Where the hell were you?”

Cas was standoffish and awkward—well, more so than usual—and kept his distance.

“I’m not going to be able to continue treating you,” he announced, eyes cast down.

Dean’s heart dropped out of his chest. “Why not?”

Cas hesitated, and his awkwardness factor skyrocketed. _Oh shit. He knew._ He knew Dean had gotten hard during the massage. He knew Dean beat off to thoughts of him in the men’s room afterward. He had to. 

“I don’t think you’re where you need to be, and that’s my fault.”

Dean let out a breath of relief at the same time he tensed in outrage, and the conflicting motion caused him to drop a crutch and lose his balance. Fortunately, Cas was there to catch him. They froze for a moment, holding eye contact, before Dean righted himself enough that he could stand on his own. Cas bent down to retrieve his lost crutch.

“See, man,” he breathed, as Cas handed him back the crutch. “This is why I need you. You think Ramona is strong enough to catch me if I lose balance?”

“She is deceptively strong, Dean,” Cas said in his deadpan way. “I have lost arm wrestling matches to that one.”

“I’ll work twice as hard at home. Come on, you’re the only reason I can get through this crap.”

Cas’s stare turned quizzical, and Dean knew he had to be blushing. Their stalemate lasted long enough that Dean wished hell had swallowed him up, but then Cas’s face broke into a wide, dazzling smile Dean hadn’t seen before. The dude had dimples!

“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll see you Thursday.”


	3. Chapter 3

Before his next physical therapy session, Dean had a follow-up appointment with his surgeon to check on his healing progress.

In contrast to what Cas had told him on Monday, the surgeon thought Dean was making great strides in his physical therapy. He got the go ahead to start resuming normal activity and only use one crutch for support. This meant he could drive his beloved baby again, move into the spare bedroom upstairs, and help Bobby around the Salvage Yard. Hunting was still out of the question, of course, but the doctor didn’t know about it to warn him against it. 

When Thursday—finally—came around, Dean was in a much better mood. He had privacy now, was sleeping in a bed instead of on the couch, and he was finally over his little crush. Best of all he had freedom and his baby back.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted his physical therapist cheerfully. “Glad to see you here.”

“Hello, Dean. I’m glad to be here.” A smile turned up the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his normally expressive blue eyes. They headed over to the bikes, and Cas set him up for his normal routine, and then turned away immediately to leave him at it.

“Hey!” Dean called out. “Keep me company?” He gave his most imploring stare, as Cas turned around, trying to emulate Sammy’s legendary puppy dog eyes. “Unless you have something else to do.”

“I’m free,” Cas smiled again, and, this time, the lines around his eyes crinkled. He pulled over the other bike and peddled right alongside Dean.

“So what do you do when you’re not helping the injured, Cas?”

“I enjoy reading, volunteering at the local food kitchen; I practice martial arts.”

“What, like kung fu?” Dean asked.

“Krav maga, actually.”

“Hmm…I’m gonna have to Google it.”

“What about you?” Cas had a smug smile on his face. “Any hobbies?”

“I work most of the time, when I’m not laid up with a busted knee,” Dean gruffed.

“And what do you do?”

Dean shrugged. He, Sam, and Bobby had cooked up a cover story weeks ago. “My brother and I are bounty hunters.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Cas observed lightly.

“How do you think I did this?” Dean gestured to his knee. “Hunting is all we know. Dad taught us, and he was the best.”

“But the whole time he was searching for your mother’s killer?” Cas’s tone was still light, but he held Dean’s gaze significantly.

“Yeah. Dad was a good man at heart, but he didn’t give a crap about justice. It was all about revenge for him.”

“I’m sorry you had to live that way,” Cas intoned. “What are you doing now that you’re injured?”

“Helping out other hunters, mostly. Doing research, tracking leads. I caught up on my TV shows, I help my friend Bobby out with his business.” He wisely did not finish with _but mostly I watch a lot of porn_ , though it was his most consistent hobby. 

Their conversation carried through Dean’s full time on the bike. Dean finally admitted he also liked to read on occasion, and they compared favorite books and authors. Talking to Cas made the time fly by, and soon they had moved to that damn trampoline. This exercise was clearly created to torture—though Cas claimed it was for balance—as Dean had to stand on the trampoline on his bad leg, and catch a medicine ball Cas tossed at him.

“Hey, Cas, you eat lunch?” Dean asked as he tossed the ball back to Cas.

“Yes, every day.” There was that deadpan humor again.

“I meant have you eaten yet today,” Dean groused.

“Not yet, no,” Cas answered warily.

“When’s your next appointment?”

Cas tossed the ball back at Dean, but it went wide and Dean couldn’t reach it without falling flat on his face.

“2:30. Why?” Cas replied once he had grabbed the ball from where it had rolled underneath one of the weight machines.

“I thought we could grab a couple cheeseburgers.”

“That would be inappropriate, Dean,” Cas admonished.

“Well, I won’t play footsie with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“ _Dean_.”

He caught Cas’s throw that time, but it was too forceful and he wobbled on the stupid trampoline. “I’ll make you a deal, Cas. I catch every one of these foul balls you keep throwing me, and we’ll have lunch together.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean was propped up on a table, the customary ice pack on his knee, and gloating. “I know a place that serves the best burgers in town,” he grinned.

“This will not become a thing, Dean,” Cas warned. “I have to maintain a level of professionalism here, and this straddles a line.”

“Lighten up, Cas. I don’t think this means we’re getting married.”

“Then I should not take that as a proposal?”

“Well, I’m not currently in a position to get down on my knee, buddy, so that’ll have to wait,” Dean smirked.

Cas shot him one of those imperious glares he did when Dean said something suggestive before turning away to put away the ice pack in the kitchenette. Dean had a new bounce in his half-hobbling gait as Cas walked him out through the lobby, out to the curb, and then to Baby.

“You have a beautiful car,” Cas said as he ran his hand gently over her contours. Lucky lady.

“She’s my baby.” Dean tried to be as smooth as possible getting behind the wheel with his bum knee, but a glance over at Cas reminded him that the physical therapist was not about to judge him for his maneuverability.

It felt great to have Cas sitting next to him in his beloved car. “Do you have another baby?” Cas asked.

“What? Like a kid? Nah, man, Sammy’s all grown up now.”

“Mm hm,” Cas mumbled, and then Dean realized what he was asking.

“You meant like a girlfriend, didn’t you?”

“Your answer is better,” Cas sputtered. “It’s none of my—“

“No girlfriend,” Dean croaked, interrupting Cas’s ramblings. “No boyfriend.”

He actually said that. His porn viewing had opened a lot of doors; he’d dropped the pretense of threesomes several days earlier. He had this one favorite performer, and he had watched every one of his videos—even the premium ones. This guy didn’t look like Cas at all, different hair color, different eye color, softer features, but there was something in the openness of his face and character that felt Cas-like anyway. They were both hot. However, getting off on gay porn was one thing, and it was an entirely different situation admitting out loud to the possibility of liking dick himself.

Cas was fortunately silent on any continued discussion of Dean’s sex life. The diner Dean was taking him to was nearby, so they didn’t need to drive much longer in uncomfortable silence.

Once they were inside the restaurant and eating, however, Dean wished Cas had stayed quiet. The guy really liked cheeseburgers—vocally liked cheeseburgers—and all his moaning around his burger was sending heat right to Dean’s crotch. His mouth froze around his own burger. “Dude,” he admonished Cas.

“I’m sorry,” Cas flushed and returned his burger to its plate. “I don’t indulge all that often.”

“Health food nut?” Dean scoffed.

“Not at all. I love all junk food: pork rinds, PB&J’s, burgers, chocolate milkshakes,”—he punctuated that with a sip from his straw—“nachos, those little powdered sugar covered donuts, slushees, taquitos.”

“Okay,” Dean laughed.

“If it was forbidden in my childhood, I have eaten it, and I have enjoyed it.”

“So what’s the deal, then?” Dean frowned.

“It’s about control,” Cas admitted. “I can’t let myself indulge regularly because if I let myself freely have the things I want I would be unable to restrain myself. I must remain composed or I would become victim to hedonism.”

“What’s wrong with pleasure?” Dean groused.

“Nothing,” Cas said softly, his eyes dark. “But for me, the pursuit of pleasure becomes the only thing. I would become possessed, insatiable.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean breathed. “You really like burgers.”

Cas laughed at that, a quick bark of a laugh, but the tension was broken. Dean joined in, if only to distract himself from the tightness in his pants. On the list of things he needed to experience in his life, Cas losing control was now at the top of it. Dean’s imagination supplied quite a few scenes from his recent porn adventures to illustrate the point. 

They finished their burgers and Dean dug into a piece of pie. He was half tempted to make a few moans of his own around his fork to see how Cas reacted, but sounds like that should never be forced, and the pie just wasn’t that good.

When the bill came, Cas pulled out an old, battered wallet.

“No way, man.”

Cas ignored him and pulled out a small wad of bills. “I’m going to pay for my own food.”

“Nope,” Dean shook his head. “This is my treat.”

“Dean,” Cas warned.

“You’ve done a lot for me, Cas. Consider this a thank you.”

“Again, I am sufficiently remunerated for helping you to regain full use of your knee.”

“What about for being my friend?” Dean asked with more vehemence than he should have.

Cas was visibly taken aback, but regained his composure quickly. “Dean,” Cas demurred. “Friends go dutch.”

And that was it. Cas was right, of course; if Dean paid for lunch, that would make it a date. Dean let Cas pay his own way without further disagreement. Things weren’t strained after that, but the spell of comfortable familiarity had been broken, and it was back to business.

“I’ll see you next week, Dean,” Cas intoned as he stepped out of the Impala onto the curb. Dean refrained from checking out his ass.

“Have a nice weekend, man,” Dean responded.

“You, too,” Cas made a sudden stop and turned around. “Dean, you should bring swim trunks on Monday.”

“Wait, what?” Dean sputtered, but it was too late; Cas was gone.

Of the many problems brought on by Castiel’s request to bring a swimsuit to Dean’s next session, the only one he could deal with was the practical aspect of not owning one. He’d never gone to the beach, and the last time he had been to a pool for fun, Clinton was still president. Jumping into a lake to save a little boy did not count. 

“Hey, Sammy,” he called from his perch on the sofa that evening. Sam was idly tapping his fingers on the surface of the desk as he read over a moldy lore book. “You wanna go shopping tomorrow?” 

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Sam set down his old book.

“I need something for my physical therapy. I thought we could go to one of those big box stores and stock up on rock salt, ammo, and stuff.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sam stammered. “You ready to get back to business already?”

“You aren’t?”

Sam’s fingers resumed their rhythm against the desk. “I kind of like living a normal life,” he shrugged. The movement was casual—so casual that it couldn’t be genuine. Sam was hiding something, and given that smirk teasing his face, that meant—

“You’ve met a girl!” 

After much hemming and hawing, Sam finally admitted that he had started chatting with a young woman he saw on his morning runs. “Her name is Sylvia and she’s a Vet Tech.”

“Hmm,” Dean remarked. “Do you like her?”

“We have a date next week,” Sam smiled.

“Then it’s perfect timing to head to Walmart. You can pick up condoms,”

Dean got a disgusting ancient book thrown at his head for that.

Later that night, Dean was tucked safely into the tiny room he’d made his own once he had moved upstairs. Sam had claimed the only decent sized room aside from Bobby’s, but Dean couldn’t blame him as his giant limbs needed the space to spread out. A laptop was open in front of him on the bed, and he was ready to type in his current favorite porn search terms when a memory surfaced. Whatever that martial art that Cas had said he did was, Dean wanted to see what it looked like. After several tries to remember its name, and several more tries to spell it correctly, Dean finally got Krav Maga typed into the search bar of Youtube. The first video he clicked on turned out to be a muscular Israeli dude disarming other muscular Israeli dudes who had fake weapons. Burly guy was a badass, taking every opponent down with quick, strong movements. _Cas could do this?_ Dean didn’t need porn with the dirty thoughts running through his mind.

Cas could just manhandle him into any position he liked, which was unbelievably arousing. Dean liked it when women took charge in bed, so he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a partner as strong as—or even stronger than—him. He rubbed his hardening cock through his boxer briefs as he thought about it, but soon realized that it’d be a lot better if he just took them off altogether—T-shirt, too. He took himself in hand and gave a firm stroke along the shaft. He let his hand cup the head and reached his other hand towards his balls. He gently cupped those, too, and just let the light stimulation bring him into full arousal. He held off as long as he could stand it, torturing himself with subtle, tantalizing touches, until he was so hard and desperate his vision blurred. He started moving his right hand again in smooth, long jerks, and pressed the fingers of the other hand into the spot behind his balls. He had always liked it when women touched him there; Dean pressed harder and that felt even better. Curiosity got the best of him eventually, and he let a finger drift low enough to make contact with his rim.

That area was sensitive, sure, but Dean wasn’t certain it was the good sort of sensitive. His finger was dry, and he wasn’t about to lick it after sticking it _there_ , but he rubbed it onto the head of his dick and got it wet with precome. Then he tried it again, and— _holy shit_ —did it make a difference! His hand sped up on his dick, and, just as the tip of his finger slid inside, he came all over his bare stomach. He kept his finger inside, shifting it slowly; his other hand smeared the come all over his belly as he reveled in the trembling aftershocks. Dazed and satisfied, he lay like that until the drying come grew itchy and uncomfortable. He wiped himself clean with a few tissues, pulled back on his underwear and limped to the bathroom for a full clean-up. Once that was all taken care of, he got himself resettled in bed, stuck the laptop under the bed, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

He opened up his notes to the shopping list, and, directly under _swim trunks_ and _rock salt_ , he wrote one more thing:

_Lube._


	4. Chapter 4

As Dean wandered through Walmart, grabbing the hunter essentials they’d run out of, his mind went to his shopping list and the secret desire laid bare on it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give a name to his burgeoning sexuality, but it was becoming increasing clear that _straight_ was not a word he could use. When he really thought about it, of course, it was pretty obvious that an attraction to men was not a new thing. The more significant about it was that an attraction to his hot physical therapist was only part of the picture. Cas was interesting: he was funny, intelligent, sexy, and unique; worse still, the two months they’d known each other constituted the longest relationship Dean had ever had outside of his dad, Sam, and Bobby. 

Sam was probably off picking out number two pencils or some other nerd thing by the time Dean made it into the dressing room with a selection of trunks. He didn’t need his brother’s opinion like a chick would— _does my ass look good in this, Sally?_ Not that Dean could get any more chick flick than he already was, being that he actually wanted ass-flattering swimwear with which to impress his crush. He could check out his own ass in the mirror, thank you very much.

In the end, he tossed two pairs in the cart once he had reunited with Sam, a baggy striped pair and slimmer fitting solid dark blue ones just in case he felt daring. When Sam gave him a quizzical look, Dean shrugged. “Physical therapy.”

“You’ve really surprised me with that. I figured you’d ditch first chance you got,” Sam remarked as they entered a checkout line.

“The doc told me it was do physical therapy or give up hunting, man. It’s not a big deal.” Dean picked up a couple magazines and flipped through them as they waited for the line to move ahead.

“Well, I’m glad you like your physical therapist, at least. I don’t think you would have stuck with it otherwise.”

“Yeah, Cas is cool,” Dean agreed, in what was probably the understatement of the century. “In an alternate reality or something, he’d probably be handy on a hunt.”

“That’s…a really big compliment, Dean. Wow,” Sam snickered.

They were next in line, but Dean had a plan already in play. “Hey, Sammy, I forgot I need some of that muscle relaxant cream for my crutch shoulder. You check out with this stuff, I’ll go back, grab it, and run through another line.”

“Nah, Dean, I’ll go get it for you,” Sam insisted

“You don’t even know the kind I like,” Dean protested. “I could use the exercise. Cas says I should be able to ditch the crutch in a week or two, so I’m almost completely mobile.”

And with that, Dean snuck off to a completely different aisle than where the pain relievers were.

There were a lot of choices in the _Sexual Wellness_ section. Dean had no experience with butt stuff, so he had no idea what kind of lube was best. Eventually he settled on good old dependable Astroglide, the thicker gel kind, and made his way back to what was hopefully a Sam-free checkout area. There was no sign of his brother as he headed for an express lane. During his quick wait, he grabbed the two magazines he’d been looking at earlier: _Men’s Health_ —for the pictures—and _Cosmo_ —for the advice—though he’d claim the opposite if Sammy found them.

When they got back to Bobby’s, they heard noises in the kitchen, which meant Bobby was home. 

“Where have you idjits been?” Bobby grumbled once he saw them.

“We picked up a few supplies,” Sam answered, raising his bags in display and subsequently setting them down to give Bobby a half hug. “Any problems?”

“I can take care of a vengeful spirit just fine, thank you.” Bobby went a little red in the face even as he protested. They’d been living together for a few months, and it had started to feel normal, as if they were a real family.

Dean clutched his embarrassing purchase more tightly as he took his turn hugging Bobby. What would Bobby think if he knew what Dean was planning to do with it? What would Sam think of him? It was mortifying to think that he was going to stick his fingers up his ass while fantasizing about his male physical therapist—in Bobby’s house of all places.

Dean rushed upstairs as fast as his bum knee could take him. He hid the bag and its embarrassing contents in the back of the closet behind his duffel. The whole thing was ridiculous.

He rethought things four times before Monday came. He moved the bag to his underwear drawer, inside the duffel, then under the bed, then in, and finally in the back of the closet again. Twice, he took the lube out of the shopping bag and spread a little on his fingers, just to feel it smoothing over his fingers and imagine what it would feel like inside him. Then he’d lose his courage again and stash it in one of his hiding places.

It went without saying, then, that by the time he went to his next physical therapy appointment, his asshole had gone untouched. He had one of the pairs of swim trunks on under his jeans, though, which reminded him of the forbidden item hidden in the closet back at Bobby’s and gave him an illicit thrill.

Cas greeted him in the lobby. “Hello, Dean, did you bring swimwear?”

“Yeah.” Dean couldn’t help his smile. “Are we going sunbathing?”

“No.” Cas furrowed his brow. “You’re going to do aquatic therapy to introduce weight training to your regimen in a low impact environment.”

Dean snickered as they walked through the gym into a room he’d never been in before. The pool was smaller and shallower than a lap pool, with wide stairs and some complicated gym equipment taking up half its length. 

Cas indicated a door to the right. “You can change in there.”

The changing room was about the size of an accessible bathroom, with a short bench along one wall and hooks for clothes and towels above. Dean began to undress; he pulled his t shirt over his head, unzipped his jeans, and dropped them to the floor. With Cas on the other side of the door, it was almost erotic.

He left his crutch behind with his clothes and shuffled into the pool room to find Cas had also changed into a pair of swim trunks. While Dean had opted for the baggy trunks of self-conscious suburban dads, Cas had gone for the sleek sophisticated swimwear of James Bond and European dudes with no body hair. Cas had body hair, though: a dusting of fine dark hair on his chest, arms, and legs, and a dark trail that led from his belly button to— _yeah_ , his swimsuit didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Dean was going to die from unexpressed lust. He was going to die and he was finally going to make that trip downstairs. Maybe the baggy trunks hadn’t been a bad idea, after all.

Things went from bad to worse because Cas joined him in the fucking pool. How was this his life now? Hiding a boner from a wet, hot dude was a worse experience than facing off against any demon. 

Dean couldn’t pay attention to the different aspects of the pool Cas was pointing out. Dean would be using the treadmill and the leg press aspects that day, but Cas’s torso was taut and muscled and the water only came up past their stomachs so all that gorgeous tanned flesh was on display. His shoulders were ridiculously cut, all straining muscles and jutting collarbone that Dean wanted his mouth on. Cas was spouting important shit, too, about water safety and how to recognize his limits.

“Dean, you have to pay attention,” Cas admonished, but his mouth stretched into the barest of smirks.

“Sorry, man, it’s just weird doing this in a pool,” Dean shrugged.

“Doing what?” Cas deadpanned; Dean caught the slight lilt at the end, though.

“You gonna be in here with me the whole time, huh?” Dean teased.

“Yes, it’s policy,” Cas frowned. “Is that a problem?”

_Yes, it’s a problem, you dumbass. You’re gorgeous and wet and half naked and so distracting I’m probably going to slip off the underwater treadmill and drown._

The water was warm and comfortable; if this were a beautiful summer day, it’d be the best day of Dean’s life. It was pretty awesome, anyway, just walking on a treadmill in the water with Cas, which was perhaps indicative of the crappiness of most of Dean’s life. 

“How does it feel, Dean?” Cas asked for the third time while Dean was on the treadmill. 

“Fine, Cas,” Dean groused.

“Can you do another two minutes for me?”

“Sure, Cas. I can do another five.”

Cas fixed him with his trademark imperious stare. “This is why I have to ask, Dean. The water can mask how much you are exerting yourself.”

“Two minutes, then,” Dean smiled.

After those two minutes, Dean rested while Cas reset the adjustable machine to a leg press. 

“Try and do twenty reps, Dean. Can you do that for me?”

“I can do anything for you,” Dean quipped. 

Somehow the water surrounding them altered normal personal space boundaries. Cas had his hands all over Dean, correcting his technique and ensuring he didn’t bend his legs too much. They were even warmer than the water.

The leg presses sucked, though. They were only going to get worse as Dean was going to do this in the water for the next two weeks before moving on to the regular machine. In the end, Dean could only manage fifteen before he had to give up.

“You did very well,” Cas reassured him, placing a hand on Dean’s bare shoulder. “Do you need to be iced?”

One of the stairs extended across a side of the pool to form a bench where they had sat to rest. Dean bent forward and briefly dunked his head in the water. “How much more do we have to do?” he asked as he shook the excess water off his head.

“Balance board.”

Brushing his now wet hair back from his forehead, Dean steadied himself. “I can handle it. I’m not gonna get back to my life without a little pain, man.”

Cas’s small smile reassured Dean. “What we’re doing here should never hurt.”

Cas was dead wrong on that account; what they were doing was more painful than anything he’d previously endured. For the first time in his life, Dean wanted— _longed_. It was torture worse than the fate he’d avoided in hell.

The balance board looked like a plastic UFO that sat on the bottom of the pool and mocked Dean. If he’d been raised by a different man, he would have had the good sense to quit for the day, change, and get iced up. 

He had zero sense, though, and so the effects of his decision were entirely on him—and Cas, the bastard.

The balance board was awful, and Dean had little strength left, so in the battle between himself and the plastic saucer, plastic won. As he lost his balance and fell forward through the water, Cas caught him. There they were, nose to nose, bare chest to bare chest, the unexpectedness of it slowing Dean’s reaction time to eons.

Cas’s warm breath was against Dean’s mouth and his bright eyes looked down into Dean’s own, as his strong arms wrapped protectively around Dean’s back. He moved impossibly closer and let his plush lips brush against Dean’s mouth, sending heat to Dean’s groin. They hovered on the edge for a second, Dean’s heart beating 1000 beats a minute against Cas’s chest. Just as Dean thought Cas’s mouth would press forward and take Dean’s own in the kiss he was desperate for, the pressure released and Cas pulled away. 

Dean wobbled backwards when Cas no longer held him up. Want, happiness, and utter disappointment waged war inside him, further destabilizing him in the water.

“Why don’t you get changed,” Cas said unemotionally. “Head to the main room for your ice when you’re done.”

Dean watched with unexpressed longing as Cas climbed out of the pool and left.

Once he was dried off, redressed and re-crutched, he headed to get iced, only to find the same female therapist, Ramona, who had filled in for Cas before. 

“Where’s Cas?” he asked.

“He had to step out,” she answered and gestured for Dean to sit on the table. “I’ll get you iced up, if that’s alright.”

It was far from alright.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean spent the twenty-four hours following his disastrous physical therapy appointment in the closet-sized room he called his own. Every few hours or so, during the day, Sam or Bobby would pound on the door and demand to know why he was holed up in there and when he was coming down. Dean ignored them in favor of dwelling on what had almost happened. He alternated between jerking off to the memory of Cas—wet, sexy, and nearly kissing him—and panicking with pooled come still drying on his stomach. The implications of their almost-kiss were not lost on him. All their flirting, the innuendo, Cas’s lust-filled eyes at lunch the previous week—it had all meant to Cas exactly what it had meant to Dean. This revelation would get Dean excited again, and he’d grab his exhausted cock and fuck into his hand. During one particularly lust-filled incident, the lube reemerged from its hiding place and was finally put to good use. The angle was difficult to maneuver, but Dean managed to get two fingers inside and made—exhilarating, life-changing, orgasmic—contact with his prostate. He was going to have to clean off the ceiling after that experience. With the high points, however, came the low points, and Dean had a pretty epic panic attack afterwards.

For nearly two weeks, he’d gotten off solely to dudes: Cas, porn actors, Dr. Sexy. It wasn’t exactly the first time, either, but it was the most intense period of it. And it was great; guys were great: strong arms, muscular thighs, broad shoulders, body hair, strong jaws, and dicks. Dicks were awesome—in theory; Dean loved his own and would love to get up close and personal with Cas’s. Girls were great, too, though, and Dean had always liked girls—loved them. Dean searched for a few of his favorite Busty Asian Beauties and reminded himself just how much he did, in fact, like girls. But Cas swung both ways, and seemed really comfortable with it. Dean supposed that meant he probably swung both ways, too. Was it okay to like women as much as any straight man, and to like guys as much as a gay man? Was that normal? From a google search, Dean learned that bisexuals— _like him?_ —had to deal with a lot of shit from straight society and from the gay community. Part of Dean got it, too; he’d spent his whole life knowing that he was attracted to women, and thinking that, since he was, what he felt towards men wasn’t also attraction. It was difficult enough understanding it when you were feeling it, let alone trying to intellectualize how someone else felt. On the other hand, however, it was all the heteronormative bullshit that society spouts that kept him from dick for all these years. 

“Oh, look. It’s Sleeping Beauty,” Bobby grumbled when Dean finally came downstairs Tuesday afternoon.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam glanced up from his book. He was feigning indifference, but Dean knew he’d been threatening to break down the door as much as Bobby had. “Your physical therapy called.”

Dean perked up at that. “What did he say?”

“Uh, it was a woman. She said that your therapist had to leave town for family stuff, and won’t be able to—“

“Sure. Whatever, man, I get it.” Dean’s heart dropped, and he left Sam and Bobby in the library to continue his seclusion upstairs.

“She wants you to call back and confirm your new appointments with Ramona,” Sam shouted after him. 

After twenty minutes of throwing things, two hours of sulking in bed, an hour of cleaning up everything he’d thrown, and fifteen minutes in the shower washing off a day’s worth of moping, Dean was ready to process the bombshell Sam had dropped. Cas was gone. Cas had just taken off and left. _The coward._ The bastard! Dean didn’t even have a phone number to call him and ask for an explanation. Dean felt heartbroken, like he’d been dumped, even though he knew rationally that a quick press of lips did not make a relationship. The problem was that Dean couldn’t read Cas. As someone who essentially lived the life of a con artist—albeit one with good intentions—Dean prided himself on his ability to cold read. Cas, however, had proven to be elusive to an infuriating degree. Unfortunately, his conveniently timed disappearing act made his feelings pretty damned obvious; whether he wanted Dean or not, he had neither interest nor intent to do anything about it.

Dean threw a shoe, but the door suddenly opened and knocked it off course. 

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam grumbled from the doorway.

“Leave me alone,” Dean growled.

“Dude, you’re acting like a teenage girl,” Sam countered as he entered the room. Uninvited.

“Thank you, Sam. It’s so fucking helpful to know that.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?!” Dean yelled. Sam fell back towards the door, which was gratifying for Dean. “You think I should be enjoying my time as a useless lump?!”

“There are other things to do in life than hunt, man,” Sam exclaimed.

“And you’d be an expert on that, huh, Sammy?” Dean spewed with vitriol.

Sam didn’t take the bait, however, and moved forward into the room again. “You’re not dad. Hunting doesn’t have to be your life.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, feelings. Boo hoo hoo. Who’s the teenage girl, now?”

Sam finally took the hint and shook his head, turned around, and left Dean to sulk in peace. Hunting was all Dean had ever known; he never took a break to go to college like Sam did. He never had a girlfriend for more than a few weeks, and it was pretty damn clear he wasn’t ever going to have a boyfriend, either. To make it worse, it wasn’t like he was being productive during his forced sabbatical. He fixed up a few cars with Bobby and answered a few phones for people who were actually doing shit.

By that night, Dean had given up on _feelings_ , and decided the only way to move on was to get drunk and get laid. He went to the same bar he and Sam had run into Cas at partially because it was the only bar he was familiar with, and partially because it was an appropriate _fuck you_ to Cas. Being a Tuesday night, it wasn’t exactly a hot spot, but there were a few promising prospects, nonetheless. Dean sat at the bar this time and ordered a beer. There was a nice looking woman two stools down, and Dean gave her the nod. She smiled suggestively, so Dean moved a stool closer to her. 

“Hey,” he grinned.

“Hi,” she replied. There was still a smile on her face, so Dean knew he was in. He gave her a polite once over, showing appreciation, but not spending too much time on boobs or butt. She had golden blond hair, warm brown eyes, a deep tan, full lips, and the whitest teeth Dean had ever seen. She leaned in. “So, are you going to buy me a drink?”

“You know, I was _just_ about to ask that,” Dean responded flirtatiously. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Please,” she smirked. “Dry Martini.”

“Now, that’s a classy drink,” Dean bantered. “Bartender!” He slammed a hand dramatically on the bar to get his attention. “Two dry martinis, please!” He then proceeded to down the rest of his beer in one long chug.

She seemed to enjoy his display and moved into the empty space between them. “Jacqui,” she introduced herself and delicately held her hand out. 

Dean responded with a soft brush of his fingers against hers. “Dean,” he replied. This was what he should be doing; there were no expectations here, just the promise of a great night. 

Their martinis arrived and Dean drank his too fast. Jacqui drank hers like a lady, which made Dean wonder if she was slumming it here. That was fine; as far as Dean was concerned, the only thing significant about that was a nicer bed to fuck in. He ordered another round, and sometime around the halfway point of that drink, Jacqui suggested they move to a table.

“What happened,” she asked once she saw him retrieve his crutch from where it was leaning against the bar.

“Bum knee,” Dean shrugged. “I hurt it at work. Doesn’t hold me back, though.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

They drank a lot of martinis. Jacqui could hold her liquor, but Dean was starting to feel the effects. Probably because it was a chick drink, unless you’re James Bond. James Bond drank Martinis, and wore tight swim trunks that showed off his bulge—James Bond probably had an epic cock. Cas wore James Bond shorts, and he had a nice bulge in them, too. God, Dean wanted to get his mouth on Cas’s cock. 

“What’s her name?” Jacqui asked, breaking his reverie on what Cas’s cock might taste like.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got that far away look in your eyes, you’ve drunk too much too fast, and you made a beeline for me immediately despite there being equally attractive and easier looking women here, and a guy as gorgeous as you has no need to act desperate unless he’s trying to forget someone.” Despite her words, she moved in closer. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to help you forget her.”

“I have a crush on my physical therapist,” Dean giggled. “How stupid is that?”

“No, that’s cute,” she placated. Dean burst out in laughter at her cluelessness. “What?” she asked once she noticed his response.

“You would not think so…actually you might think so.” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “My physical therapist is fucking hot…and six feet tall, with stubble and a dick.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed carefully as she backed away. “Normally I have pretty good gaydar.”

“’m not gay!”

“Sorry,” she droned. Her manner had shifted away from flirtatious to judgmental and detached, and she began to search the room.

“See," Dean growled. "You act all high and mighty, but you were ready to help me forget my crush before you found out he was a dude. I’m hot, I’m fucking legendary in bed, and I don’t lie about calling, so it’s your loss, Jacqui—if that’s even your real name.”

Dean had to call Sam to pick him up, after he sent Jacqui packing and settled his tab. After an embarrassingly long wait outside the bar, his brother finally showed up with Bobby in the passenger seat.

When he caught Dean’s perplexed expression, Sam explained, “Bobby offered to drive your car home, so it doesn’t have to sit in the parking lot all night.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean offered and handed his keys off to the older man.

Bobby shook his head in disappointment as he grumbled obscenities under his breath, but he started up the Impalas engine and took off without a word.

Dean got into the passenger seat of the borrowed car Sam had driven.

“What is your problem, Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. “I have terrible taste in women,” Dean grumbled.

“No shit, but I meant why are you acting like this?”

“I wanted to find a lady friend for the night, Sammy,” Dean snickered.

“And you struck out,” Sam mocked.

“Hey, man, that was my decision. I cut her loose.”

“Why?”

“Wasn’t I wanted.”

They turned off the main road towards Bobby’s place, but Sam pulled off to the side and stopped the car once they were clear from the intersection.

“I don’t get you. Do you hate living a normal life so much?”

“Hey, I’m trying,” Dean gruffed.

“Picking up women in bars is what you always do. Maybe it’s time try something new.”

_Oh God._ Sam had no idea. Dean would love to try something new, and by something new, he meant dick. He was drunk enough that he couldn’t control his laughter, which earned him a curious look from his brother.

Sam continued, “There are lots of other places to meet women: coffee shops, join a real gym, pottery cl—“

“Dude, I don’t want to meet women,” Dean interrupted. 

“What do you want?”

_I want Cas. I want Cas. **I want Cas.**_

“Can we just go home?”


	6. Chapter 6

Wednesday passed in a hangover and more sulking, so by the time Thursday arrived, Dean was not only in the midst of the world’s worst bad mood ever, he hadn’t done any of his exercises since Monday. This was a decision he quickly regretted as he faced Ramona, who must have been a Romanian Gymnastics coach in another life. It was with much trepidation that he even attended his physical therapy at all, but Dean knew that not going would tip Sam off to the real reason he was moping.

He was in the swimming pool again, the memories of his and Cas’s turn in the pool still fresh on his mind. Ramona didn’t hold the same sex appeal, so this time around it was difficult—not _hard_ —and soggy—not _wet_.

“Any word from Cas?” he asked casually.

“No,” Ramona snapped. “You’re better off without him. Look at you, you can barely last ten minutes. You should be much stronger by now.”

“That’s not Cas’s fault,” Dean objected.

Ramona shook her head. “Cas is soft,” she declared.

“He doesn’t look soft to me,” Dean remarked.

That earned him a scrupulous glare from Ramona. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“One of what?” Dean demanded. He stopped on the leg press machine and sat up.

Ramona sighed. “Half of his patients end up with a crush on him. Usually it’s old ladies with new hips or sixteen-year-old girls. Didn’t expect the big strapping guy with the athlete injury to fall among the many.”

 _Oh._

“Does he…does he encourage it?”

Ramona laughed. “Cas? Castiel barely notices. He’s not so good at picking up signals, you know. Gorgeous—but clueless, which makes him extremely dangerous. Get back to work.”

Dean laid back to finish his reps, but his mind was racing. 

“He’s never been accused of—“

“Excuse me?” Ramona admonished. “If Cas had ever been accused of anything fishy with a patient, do you really think he’d still be working here?”

“Of course not,” Dean mumbled.

“Only problems were an old lady who became convinced he was her late husband, and a teenage girl who tried to strong arm him into coming to her birthday party. Her mom got involved—it wasn’t pretty.”

“Yikes,” Dean exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Ramona breathed. “Turned out, the mom wanted him for herself. I think they actually went out a few times after that.”

“That’s all I can do,” Dean whined after he’d finished ten reps on the leg machine. It was fewer than he’d done with Cas on Monday, but without Cas as motivation and two days without doing anything useful, it wasn’t surprising.

“Maybe you are a teenage girl after all, Williams,” Ramona admonished.

“Bite me,” Dean growled.

“Tempting,” she grimaced. “Balance board time.”

Dean grimaced himself at her demand. “Nope,” he drawled. “I will not kill myself on that stupid flying saucer of death.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“I’ll be better next week; can I just get iced and go?”

Ramona looked taken aback; perhaps she was human after all. “Go ahead and get changed. I’ll meet you in the gym in five minutes for your ice.”

Dean was grateful to have his physical therapy over for the week, but his mind was reeling with what Ramona had told him. Was he one of many patients who fell for Cas or did Cas return the attraction making Dean both special and dangerous? Why did Cas take off after the pool incident?

“I fucking hate picking up the slack,” Ramona’s voice drifted from one of the private rooms she’d disappeared into. “Who just takes off and leaves coworkers in a lurch like that?”

_Were they talking about Cas?_

A male voice joined in, “At least you didn’t end up with Rita. Her back may be out, but her fingers are just fine. I’ve got a permanent bruise on my ass—randy old bat.”

Dean could hear Ramona’s laughter, then she spoke again. “His ten o’clock? Lovesick puppy.”

 _Oh yeah_ , they were talking about Cas— _and Dean_. 

“Wait—the big guy?”

“Yeah. Cas said he was having problems with one of his patients, but I didn’t expect it to be GQ out there. If it were me, I’d hit that with no complaints.”

There was a commotion on the other side of the room—a woman knocked down some equipment which clattered to the ground.

Once he could hear again, Ramona was saying, “…stuff he gets all the time. Now I see it, though; he had me cover this Williams guy before.”

Dean stopped listening, threw down his ice, and escaped through the lobby. He didn’t breathe until he was safe behind Baby’s wheel. How could he have misunderstood things like that? Cas didn’t like him; Cas didn’t want him. Cas just wanted to get away from a problem. Dean hadn’t cried in years, but a single tear dropped from his eye. Just fuck him—and not in the way Dean had wanted to be fucked. Fuck his stupid blue eyes and his gorgeous lips. Fuck his messy, sexy hair, that smooth, tan skin—

Dean was certainly in a right state. In five minutes he’d alternated from crying to anger to totally turned on. The three conflicting emotions battled within him, and that just made him angrier. So, sadness and longing got pushed to the side in favor of Dean’s favorite emotion. He was still in the midst of his wrath when Saturday came.

Sam found him out in the Salvage Yard mucking with a wrecked Trans Am. He watched Dean in silence, until he had to duck a flying wrench. “I liked you better when you were sulking,” he sighed. “Now you’re just an ass.”

“Leave me alone,” Dean grumbled and headed over to the tool box.

“My date’s tonight, and I’d like to borrow the Impala.”

“I’d like to find a half inch drive ratchet.” Dean dug through the tool box looking for the right tool. “You don’t always get what you want.”

“Come on, Dean. I’m driving a clunker. I really like Sylvia, and I want to make a good impression.”

“Tough shit,” Dean growled. Sam turned away and Dean returned to working on a car that can’t possibly be fixed—like Dean’s life. 

Dean’s back was turned when he heard Sam’s voice again. “I know why you’re acting like this.”

 _Shit._ He couldn’t possibly know about Cas, could he? Dean had barely realized his attraction that night at the bar, Sam couldn’t have noticed.

“You think it’s my fault you busted your knee,” Sam continued.

“How so?” Dean queried. He was half genuinely interested and half figuring he could use that to hide the real source of his bad mood.

Sam shrugged. “I had a clear shot and I missed. If I’d killed the damn vampire like I was supposed to, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Why would I blame you for that?” Dean had been caught off guard by Sam’s admission. In the heat of a fight, he hadn’t noticed who was doing what where.

“Why not? You blame me for everything else,” Sam lashed out.

“Well, Sammy, you were the ruler of hell for a while there.”

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

Dean had little patience left for this type of discussion. Whatever had happened with Sam, it was long over.

“You know what, Sam. Take the damn car. I hope she’s the love of your life.”

Despite his bad mood, Dean laughed once Sam had wandered away with the keys. Dean actually meant what he had said. He did hope this Sylvia was someone Sam could be happy with. He did hope this could be the love of Sam’s life. Until it had all come crashing down, he had thought that perhaps… _perhaps he had found his_.

Eventually numbness set in. Dean wasn’t sulking, and he wasn’t angry, and that seemed better for all parties. Sam had come home walking on clouds after his date with Sylvia. They made plans to go running together a few mornings a week, in addition to another date the following Friday. 

Dean got back to his daily exercises, going to the Y to ride the stationary bike and use the treadmill and leg press machine. Ramona saw no need to keep him in the pool any longer, so he started on the regular machines before Cas had planned. He never wanted to see that damn pool as long as he lived. It was a relief to make progress; Dean couldn’t wait to get back on the road and kill some monsters.

After two weeks, everything had settled into a comfortable rhythm: work out every day, get abused by Ramona twice a week, tease Sam about his girlfriend, answer phones, and check out key word alerts. He was completely over Cas and had all but forgotten his former physical therapist.

It was, therefore, a blow to his delusions when he ran into Cas on the next Monday as he was arriving for his appointment.

“Dean!” Cas seemed surprised as Dean rushed passed him towards the gym. “I thought you would already be in your appointment with Ramona.”

God, he looked good. His hair was as tousled as it would be after a great makeout session, and his eyes were bright and sparkling.

“Yeah, I’m running late. Accident on I-29,” Dean explained.

“Then I won’t keep you,” Cas faltered. “I’m sorry—“

“Are you—“ Dean began at the same time.

Cas smiled sadly. “I think Ramona is doing a good job with you, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied with little agreement. He continued past Cas before turning around and addressing him again. “Was everything okay in Illinois?”

Cas was taken aback. “How did you know I…?”

“You left for family stuff and I remembered you were from there,” Dean shrugged. “Everyone is fine?”

“Yes. I went to see my niece in a school play. She was an understudy and just before Tech Week, one of the leads dropped out because of grades. I couldn’t miss a chance to see Claire play Rizzo.”

“No, man, ‘course you couldn’t. I should—“ Dean gestured towards the gym. “Ramona terrifies me.”

“She terrifies everyone,” Cas deadpanned. “I’ll stop by while you’re being iced, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Cas rewarded him with a genuine smile, showing teeth and gums and those dimples Dean had dreamt about. 

Okay, so Dean still sort of had a crush on Cas. A major crush. The world’s biggest crush. It was maybe more than a crush. 

Perhaps sensing that Dean wanted his therapy to be over (more so than usual), Ramona seemed to work him twice as hard. She yelled and insulted him for forty-five minutes, so that, despite his complicated feelings for Cas, his reappearance was like a balm.

“I’ll take care of him, Ramona. Thank you,” Cas dismissed the bad-tempered physical therapist.

“May I?” Cas offered the ice pack he held. Dean nodded and let Cas gently wrap the pack around his knee. “Dean, I—“

“Spit it out, man,” Dean laughed.

Cas sat down on one of the adjacent exam tables. He looked solemn. “I think I crossed a line; it was unprofessional and I apologize.”

“You mean you led me on,” Dean corrected.

“Yes, I—wait, what?” Cas sputtered. His eyes were huge and round, and the air suddenly filled with possibility.

It was soon shattered, however, by a loud crash and a pained wail. Cas was facing the commotion and could see what had happened, so he immediately stood up and rushed towards the noise. Dean turned around on the table and looked after him. A shelf of weights had come crashing down, some of them hitting another physical therapist who had been working with a patient.

As the therapist howled in pain, the patient he was treating berated Cas, Ramona, and the others who had arrived to help. “Those could have hit me! I’ll sue! This is an unsafe environment!”

Dean had finished his icing, and was probably in the way, so he slunk out to the lobby, just as Cas was announcing the young man probably had a broken leg.

“Hey,” he called to the receptionist. “There was an accident in the gym; you should probably call 911 or something.”

She thanked him and rushed into the gym to see what was the matter. They were all health care professionals, so he was in good hands, and Dean didn’t need to play some sort of hero. It was difficult to let go of years of training, but it was nice to let professionals handle a situation for once. He and Sam had been on their own for too long; now, living with Bobby, having friends—lovers, even—it was the greatest freedom Dean had ever felt. 

That, and perhaps Dean had misunderstood the situation with Cas.

He spent the rest of the day in such great spirits, that Sam became suspicious. 

“You want to meet my girlfriend?” Sam repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, sure, Sammy,” Dean said between bites of a burger. “You’re serious about her, huh?”

“And you won’t hit on her, or be gross or anything?”

“Of course not, dude.”

Sam turned to Bobby, “Get a silver knife.”

After dinner, Dean settled onto the couch with a laptop and a bunch of episodes of a telenovela downloaded from the internet. Valentina had just been left at the alter by her no good fiancé when Dean’s phone chirped.

**I need to see you.**

That was ominous and vague.

**This is Castiel.**

_Oh shit._ Dean put down the laptop and began typing out a response when another text came in.

**I stole your number from your file. Not legal, but…see first text.**

_Now?_ Dean typed.

A reply came instantly.

**Yes.**

_Where?_

A location popped up instead of an answer, and Dean took off without a word to places unknown.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from Pascon!! I am, as I update this, sitting and waiting for Jared and Jensen autographs and my Castiel op, all running late. No reason for you to wait any longer, though.

Dean pulled up to a row of reasonably nice brick buildings; they were probably less than ten minutes from the physical therapy office. Another text had come in while Dean was driving:

**Number 27.**

Dean parked in a guest spot and found a directory. Once he’d figured out the right building, he headed for the nearest set of stairs. The anticipation was such that it was all he could do to take them one at a time; his knee was grateful.

A door opened several apartments down from the landing, and Dean had to stifle the instinct to concoct a bluff.

It was Cas. He was wearing a loose T shirt, an ancient pair of jeans, and an expression of wonder.

“ _Dean_ ,” he breathed.

They didn’t run dramatically to each other like in a cheesy romantic movie, but Dean really wanted to. Cas simply invited him inside and gestured to a comfy looking sofa for Dean to sit down. 

“A drink?” Cas offered.

“Please.” The sofa settled under Dean’s weight. The apartment was nice, but relaxed and well-lived in. The walls were decorated with an eclectic collection of band posters: everything from 1960’s rock to 1990’s gangsta rap, obscure jazz performances, a famous cellist even Dean could recognize, late 1970’s punk and glam rock, death metal and big band. There was enough classic rock among the mix that Dean fell even harder for the other man. Shelves that lined the wall were filled with an equally diverse assortment of books and curious knick knacks from around the world. Cas was fucking cool.

Cas returned from the small kitchen with two tumblers full of amber liquid. He handed one to Dean, then sat on an antique crate that seemed to serve as a coffee table.

“I’m glad you came, Dean,” he smiled.

Dean coughed at the unintended suggestiveness of Cas’s comment. Once Cas caught on, however, his eyes darkened and focused. 

Dean downed the contents of his glass. “I’ve never done this before,” he blurted out.

“Done what?” Cas asked coyly.

Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which caused Cas to double over in laughter. 

“C’mere,” Dean breathed, and Cas launched himself forward.

Finally— _finally_ —Cas was kissing him. It was undemanding at first, just the press forward that had eluded Dean in the pool so many weeks earlier. Dean got his hands in Cas’s soft hair and pulled him closer until Cas’s muscular thighs boxed him in on the couch. Cas pushed Dean’s head back against the antimacassar, opening Dean’s mouth and flicking his tongue inside tentatively. Dean met it with his own, initiating a slow, sensual back and forth. It was glorious. It was one thing to be attracted to guys, another to get off on the idea of a guy, but to feel his jeans tighten while a stubbled face rubbed against his was transformative. Cas moved from his mouth to the space under his ear, giving Dean the opportunity to suck on the hard lines of his jaw. 

“You’re very good at this for someone who’s ever done it before,” Cas whispered before biting down gently on Dean’s earlobe.

“I’ve done this part before,” Dean huffed. “It’s this part I’m unfamiliar with.” He rubbed his hand against the thickening cock barely contained by Cas’s jeans.

“Really?” Cas pulled away to stare Dean in the face; Dean nodded. “Oh, you’re just going to love cock, I can tell.”

“I’m really looking forward to it,” Dean remarked. “But first, I’d like to get to know that gorgeous mouth of yours some more.”

“Hmm,” Cas hummed against Dean’s mouth. “I was thinking the same thing.” 

He took Dean’s bottom lip in his own, nibbling at it, while Dean sucked on his top lip in return. Cas worked the buttons on Dean’s shirt, exposing the T shirt underneath.

“Has anyone ever told you that you wear too many layers,” he asked.

“Let me help,” Dean smirked, and pulled the two shirts over his head.

Cas put his mouth to Dean’s collarbone immediately, as both his hands reached around between Dean and the sofa to grab his back. “I have been wanting to get my hands on you again for so long,” he breathed.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Cas was making very good headway on what would be a difficult to explain hickey on Dean’s neck. “What’s this?” he asked after moving his efforts downward towards Dean’s tattoo.

“Protects from evil,” Dean replied simply.

“That is very sensible,” Cas all but growled as Dean nibbled on the jut on his collarbone, pulling down his old t shirt for better access.

“I’m a sensible man,” Dean agreed. “You need to get this shirt off, man.”

With that, Cas pulled away and stood up; Dean tried to suppress his disappointment. He realized his misjudgment of the situation, however, when Cas slowly pulled up his shirt, first exposing his flat stomach, then his taut pecs with their small, dark nipples, then the collarbone and shoulders Dean had been lavishing attention on. His hands slid over his own torso, then stopped at the button of his jeans. Dean nodded eagerly, and Cas responded by popping the button and gingerly undoing the zipper. His jeans fell to the ground, exposing a pair of boxer briefs straining around his erection.

Dean could feel himself drooling at the sight and, keeping his eyes trained on Cas, undid his own jeans and slid them off. He reseated himself on the sofa, stretching over the length of it. He rubbed the sensitive area at the crease of his thigh and gave Cas a come hither nod. Cas moved towards the sofa and sort of heaved himself on top. Dean was certain nothing had ever been so good before as the hard weight of a man above him. Their bare chests rubbed against each other like they had so briefly—and tantalizingly—in the swimming pool. He let his hands wander over Cas’s muscular back down to the round swell of his ass, pulling Cas towards him until— _shit_ —their hard cocks brushed together.

Cas laughed at Dean’s reaction and bore down against him, thrusting their cocks together. Dean panted and a deep moan escaped his lips. Cas’s mouth was hot and wet when he captured the moan with his swollen lips. They made out some more, punctuating the motion of their tongues with little thrusts against each other. Cas pulled away to renew his attempts at giving Dean a neck full of hickeys. He moved towards Dean’s nipples, lavishing attention on one, then the other until they were hard nubs wet with saliva. He was bracketed between Dean’s legs, and Dean let one drop off the couch so Cas could get a better angle. Cas nibbled down Dean’s stomach until he reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs where he hesitated. 

“Please,” Dean moaned. 

Cas complied and pulled the waistband down so Dean’s cock sprung free. The air was cool on his scorching erection, but the sensation only lasted a second before Cas’s even hotter mouth enveloped it. Cas explored the head with his tongue, flicking into the slit, circling the ridge, and paying extra attention to that sensitive spot along the bottom. One hand reached down to cup Dean’s balls while the other encircled his shaft, moving in tandem with Cas’s bobbing head. He took Dean in deeply, deeper than Dean would be able to when it was his turn down under.

“Mmmm,” Dean moaned at the thought of returning the favor. 

Cas pulled off and sucked on the inside of Dean’s thigh. 

“Don’t stop,” Dean whined.

Cas released a throaty laugh. “I almost got myself fired for a taste of you, I’m going to enjoy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas scolded.

“If it makes you feel any better, Cas, I’ve pretty made myself and everyone around me crazy with how much I wanted— _oh_.” Cas had resumed his attention to Dean’s cock. He kissed down one side, flicked his tongue against Dean’s balls, then back up to lick around the head before taking it into his mouth again. He let one hand wander over Dean’s balls, then behind them, kneading that sensitive spot. Dean had barely enough consciousness left in him to be grateful that he stopped there, as Dean was far from ready to go there (even though he really wanted to go there). Heat was building in Dean’s belly, and his world narrowed to Cas’s mouth and Cas’s hand, until suddenly that tiny world exploded. His body convulsed and spasmed as he spilled his pleasure into Cas’s mouth.

Dean was still breathing through the aftershocks when he felt Cas’s weight on him again. Cas kissed him and Dean could taste the bitterness of his own come in Cas’s mouth. The pressure of Cas’s still hard dick pressed against Dean’s bare hip as he thrusted against it.

“Hey,” Dean said drowsily. “Whatchu doin’?”

“I’m good like this, Dean,” Cas panted.

“No,” Dean replied petulantly. “’m gonna suck you off. Wanna suck you off. Just need a minute.”

“Dean,” Cas moaned, trying to sound reproachful, but only succeeding in sounding completely depraved.

Dean reached his hand down until he made contact with Cas’s underwear, which he was still inexplicably still wearing. He reached right in and grabbed Cas’s dick, which was smooth and warm in his hand. The moan he was rewarded with bolstered his energy and resolve, and, with his free hand, he pushed Cas back until he was seated upright on the sofa. Dean let himself slip onto the floor in front of Cas.

“Dean, your knee,” Cas admonished.

“I’ll be careful. I want to do this,” Dean leaned against Cas’s bare knee and gave it a soft kiss. Cas favored him with a tender hand through his hair, and Dean all but melted against his leg.

Cas stood without dislodging Dean from his supplicant position, and pulled his underwear down to his thighs before sitting down again. Dean tugged them off his legs and out of the way before finally getting his first look at Cas’s cock.

Was it weird to think another man’s dick was gorgeous? Dean leaned in to taste the wet head and found himself licking the length with gentle flicks of his tongue. Cas whimpered and tossed his head back against the sofa; a droplet of sweat making its way down his bared neck transfixed Dean. As Cas came apart, Dean grew bolder and closed his mouth around the head. There was the bitter taste of precome and the taste of clean skin and chlorine; his dick was thick, heavy, and hot in Dean’s mouth. Dean could see himself getting off on this; if he hadn’t already been taken care of (epically) he’d be so hard already. Especially given the obscene moans and swears that Cas kept uttering. His hips began to move, and Dean took that as indication to do the same with his mouth. It was a lot to take in, but Dean wrapped his hand around what wouldn’t fit in his mouth as Cas had done for him.

“You take dick so well, Dean,” Cas encouraged.

Dean bobbed his head, and tried to use his tongue to hit all the sensitive spots as his mouth moved over Cas. Cas’s hips began to move erratically indicating he was close.

“Don’t try to swallow, baby,” he gasped between moans. “I’m close. So fucking close.”

His hips gave a few more irregular jerks before his body stilled and hot, bitter liquid pumped into Dean’s mouth. Dean had to pull away it was too much and watched as the last few spurts of come dribbled out of Cas’s dick. Cas handed him a tissue from somewhere and he emptied the contents of his mouth into it.

“You good?” Cas asked breathlessly.

“Fuck yeah,” Dean replied. He tried to use the tissue to clean up the mixture of spit and come on Cas’s cock, but the tissue was already soaked through.

“Leave it, I’ll clean up later. Get your pretty little virgin ass up here so we can cuddle.”

“I don’t cuddle,” Dean protested, but moved back to the sofa anyway.

Cas’s bare skin was so warm next to Dean, he was certain he was going to fall asleep. And that was…okay. Surprisingly okay. He was not freaking out—about the blow jobs or the cuddling—and the only troublesome after effects were the ache in his jaw and a bit of stiffness in his bad knee.

“Dean,” Cas began. “You realize this means that Ramona is going to have to continue as your physical therapist.”

Dean settled in closer to the soft skin of Cas’s neck. “Mm hm. Insurance only pays for another week, anyway. This is better.”

Cas nuzzled against Dean’s forehead. 

“Much better.”


	8. Epilogue

**Three Weeks Later**

“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna like it. That’s not the problem.”

Cas leaned back on his haunches on the bed. “Then what is the problem?”

“Isn’t it nasty?” Dean grimaced.

Cas leaned forward and mouthed against the exposed skin on the back of Dean’s neck. “That’s what the shower was for.” He ghosted his hand over Dean’s still damp skin and bare ass.

The shower had been fantastic. It had started with a massage on the bed, then washing the massage oil off each other in the warm soapy water. Dean was so fucking relaxed that he’d said yes when Cas asked him if he’d like Cas to put his mouth _there_. And, yeah, Dean wanted a lot of things back there that he hadn’t yet experienced, but—seriously—Cas wanted to lick his asshole?

Cas’s hands gripped the top of Dean’s thighs firmly and started to separate them. The first brief lick of his tongue was a surprise, not because Dean hadn’t expected it, but because it was so good. Like _why weren’t all men getting their buttholes licked all the time_ good. What little butt stuff they’d done together (or Dean had done on his own) had been about getting inside, getting to his prostate, and letting that bright curl of pleasure course through him, but with this, Cas was taking his time, alternating flat licks with little grazes, never letting Dean get too much. By the time Cas’s tongue breached Dean’s hole, Dean had grown panting and desperate. Cas took pity on him and reached under to jack Dean’s dick in time with his tongue’s ministrations, and that was all it took—Dean was staining the clean white sheets underneath him.

Dean buried his face into the bed beneath him, at first not hearing the squelching sound of flesh on flesh behind him. Cas moaned as he worked his hand over his own cock. Soon, Dean’s back was painted with Cas’s release, and Cas collapsed next to him on the bed.

“Why would you ever want to leave this?” he growled.

Dean rolled over, letting the come on his back smear over the sheets as well. He pulled Cas’s head to his chest and kissed his damp hair. “I’ve grown soft, man. If I don’t get back out there now, I never will.”

“There are worse things than staying here,” Cas whispered into Dean’s tattoo.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks,” Dean reassured him.

“Not good enough.”

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” Dean kissed Cas’s nose.

Cas responded with a cocked eyebrow and a haughty frown. “At the very least, you could tell your brother about us.”

“Nope, nuh uh, not happening.”

“Coward.”

“Hey,” Dean groused. “How did you come out to your family?”

“They unexpectedly showed up when I was away at college and found me in flagrante delicto with three sorority sisters and a frat boy.”

Dean howled with laughter.

“I tried to explain that since I was an anatomy major, I was checking his prostate, but the sorority girl I had also been pleasuring chimed in with ‘Well, you weren’t checking my prostate.’ Jimmy didn’t speak to me for a month, he was so mortified.”

“You were having orgies at nineteen?”

“It was a phase,” Cas shrugged.

“Does that mean—“

“No,” Cas interrupted. “I don’t share.”

Dean shushed him with a searing hot kiss. “I don’t cheat,” he said upon breaking it. “In case you were…”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh, yeah, good,” Dean stuttered. Agreeing to be exclusive, which he was pretty sure was what had just happened, wasn’t a big deal just because he had never gotten to that point in a relationship before. So, he had a boyfriend, now. It wasn’t like for the last few weeks he didn’t spend eighty percent of his time with Cas. Only half of that was naked time, too. The other half was spent trying the best diners in town, swimming together at the Y ( _okay, that was spent half naked_ ), competing at the pool table ( _Dean usually won_ ) at what had become their bar, and watching TV shows on Netflix ( _which, admittedly, usually ended in nakedness_ ) as Cas had a lot of catching up to do. 

It had been the best three weeks of his life, but the road still called to him. Not that Cas wasn’t more than Dean had ever had before, but he had based a lifetime of what little self-esteem he had on his hunting ability, and he wasn’t in a position to give that up— _yet_. It’s not like a high school dropout with no other skills was a sought after job applicant. Dean was a hunter; that wasn’t going to change.

What had changed, however, was that, for the first time since he was four years old, Dean had a home other than his beloved car. Sam felt the same way. He was pretty smitten with the vet tech he’d been dating—hence his not noticing Dean spent little time around Bobby’s anymore. Bobby pretended to hem and haw when the boys had told him they wanted to make Sioux Falls a home base, but he definitely smiled when he agreed to let them crash at his place when they were in town. Eventually they’d get a place of their own, maybe together, but more likely Sam with his girlfriend and Dean…

When Dean thought about home now, he imagined a comfortable apartment, filled with the collections of a world traveler with great taste in music, with a mini gym set up in the bedroom and a really comfortable mattress, with a shower that had just enough room for two fully grown men, and a kitchen that now stocked Dean’s favorite beer. He imagined a warm body next to him on the sofa or in bed, an arm thrown around his waist, a wet mouth giving him unbelievable pleasure. Home was no longer a fading dream of a childhood that burnt up in fire, but a warm, secure place where Dean could live. 

Home was Cas.


End file.
